


apples ;

by therentyoupay



Category: Frozen - Fandom, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Colonial!Jack, Colonial/Fairy Tale, Crossover, F/M, Forbidden Love, Human!Jack, Mild Language, One Shot, at the center AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therentyoupay/pseuds/therentyoupay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Nice try, country boy.</em><br/><em>But you never had a chance.</em><br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	apples ;

**Author's Note:**

> **Based on the following quote from** _at the center_ :  
> He wondered what she thought of them—what she would think of the stories no longer told by his hands. He wondered what she would think of the boy he once was, _Jackson Overland_ , the Shepherd boy who shirked his chores and terrorized the village, who didn't know how to talk to girls except to mess with them, who laughed a lot and made other people laugh, and who loved his sister very much.
> 
> ( _If he were born in a different world, in a different life...  
>  If he were just a peasant boy in the grand countryside of Arendelle—_
> 
> _Could they have been friends?_ )
> 
> _9/28/14_. Happy Autumn, everyone! I am super pumped about this one-shot. I've been dying to get this out for at least a month, BUT, at the same time, I was really torn with the direction I wanted this one to go... So torn, in fact, that I actually ended up deciding to create two completely separate, slightly different human!Jack AU one-shots. :P Here is the first. The next one will be completed... whenever. I can't tell which one I prefer! I think it totally depends on my mood. I originally planned for this to have a few more scenes and a bit more development with the rest of the castle (including a scene with Anna), but I can already feel myself being pulled toward another version of a human!JackAU, so I'm gonna leave this as is for now. Subscribe if you want, because I may add another few bits and pieces to turn this into a two-shot in the future, but I can't say for sure. Also, it is not technically necessary for anyone to have read _at the center_ before this, but it's really more of an ATC AU than just a ROTG or Frozen AU, just so you're warned. You may miss a few references. For this one, I really wanted to play with chronology, dialogue-only scenes (I have a weakness, okay), and some world-crossing. Also. I may or may not have read an awful lot about fjord mares. I also read up on colonial curse words. (And The Greenwood Encyclopedia of Clothing Through World History: 1501-1800). Interesting facts. A huge thanks to **[Alison](http://ahlistenalison.tumblr.com)** , my beta, who reads through my stories even while sick, or at airports, or maybe-sometimes-sorta drunk. Her insight and pearls of wisdom are invaluable, sober or otherwise. Also, I made a [playlist](http://8tracks.com/therentyoupay/apples) for this because I may or may not be growing steadily more obsessed with 8tracks. Carry on!

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Elsa wasn't laughing today. 

“I don't know what you're so worried for,” he quipped, tossing an apple high above his shoulder and catching it in an easy grasp. Her eyes slanted his way as the fruit leapt into the air once more, blue gaze guarded. When it landed, her eyes lingered on the red and, for a moment, the apple felt heavy in his hand.

Quickly snatching a bite with a white flash of teeth, Jack grinned—mouth full—and said, “I mean, is your dad really gonna care all that much?”

Her narrow-eyed, challenging, under-brow look of _are you serious?_ never got old.

She never really talked about why she was so antsy all the time, or why it was so important that her father never found her wandering around the stables alone. But then again, Jack guessed that if you were a big, fancy king with a really pretty princess for a daughter, you were probably allowed to be a little uptight. You were allowed to do pretty much anything.

Especially if she liked to spend her early mornings in the stables with the peasant boy who cleaned them.

Elsa's lips twisted into a delicate frown, and the apple in his mouth turned cold and tasteless. Like a raw potato. He knew what tasted like. (He'd been dared to eat one once.

What a waste.)

“You shouldn't refer to him so casually,” Elsa warned him quietly and, after a moment, turned away. Her focus returned to the gentle brushing of the long, well-kept locks of her prize mare, who whinnied her soft complaint about having been neglected for even a minute. He was watching the movements of her hand—long, even strokes along the sheen of short, soft hair—but Jack's frown turned into a pout when, out of nowhere, Elsa quietly scolded, “And stop eating my horse's apples.”

He _could_ , Jack decided as he took another loud bite, staring at the shape of Elsa's jaw. 

But this was a lot sweeter.

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* * *

  **apples ;**  

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“ _Can I help you with something, ma'am?”_

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“ _Ahem. Pardon, miss, but I_ asked _—may I assist you?”_

“ _I... I'd like to take out my horse, please.”_

“ _Well, uh—sure. I mean, uh—certainly_. _Right away, ma'am.  
I'd be happy to prepare your horse as soon as I can see your seal.”_

 _(And maybe your face,  
_ _instead of the side of that creepy hood.)_

“ _My seal?”_  

“ _Of approval... y'know. From the King. Of Arendelle.”_  

“ _I... don't have a seal.”_  

“ _Right... Well, uh, I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not allowed to let anybody ride without an official seal from the King.”_

“ _Ah. I see...”_

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“ _Look, you, uh... Can I help you with anything else, ma'am?  
_ _No disrespect, but, I've still got some chores to do and—”_  

“ _Have you worked in a stable before?”_

 _(What the  
_ hell _?)_

“ _Uh... no. Can't say I have. Oh, wait—hold on, she's real skittish, she don't like anybody touching—”_

 

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_(—her.)_

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_(Whoah.)_

 

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“ _You, uh... you know that mare pretty well, then? Miss... ?”_

“ _Hmm... Not as well as I would like, I'm afraid.”_  

“ _Well... She, uh... seems to know you.”_

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 _(Holy_ shit—

 

 

 

 

 

— _she's beautiful.)_

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“ _Look, I'm real sorry, but I still can't let you take her out until I get permission from the King.  
_ _If you just come back with—”_  

“ _Thank you, but... that won't be happening, I'm afraid.”_

“ _Ah... You, uh, not all that acquainted with the King?”_

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“ _Not exactly.”_

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“It is a pleasure to have you here, young Jack. The horses have taken to you remarkably well.”

As much as he hated to admit it, that was one of the impressive things about the King; he knew all of his servants by name. Granted, Jack had just recently been commissioned only a few weeks ago, and he sorta stood out like the sore country foxtail he was, but still. It was more acknowledgement than he got from the baker across the bridge. 

He grinned his most respectable smile—no teeth, no hidden bite. Jack decided that the man was pretty all right, for a King.

“Of course, sir.”

Just a private ride around the forest grounds, it looked like. The King took out his favored horse—an old, sturdy sort of guy; very proud—which he reserved for his longer morning strides. His noble steed watched on from his exceedingly noble stall, looking only mildly affronted. (Jack would sneak him a carrot, later.)

“Shall I prepare this one too, sir?”

He was already moving toward Elsa's beautiful mare, one hand raised to open the lock. She'd never actually _said_ that it was hers, but Jack could tell that they knew each other, even if she still hadn't ridden her yet. (Because—as much as Jack _loathed_ the idea of stickin' tight to the rules—he desperately needed this job, and Elsa still hadn't brought him a seal.) But today was a new day and the King was already here—the same time that Elsa usually was, so maybe today was the day she finally would? (And _hell_ —maybe with her father, even.) Elsa usually came down to the stables in the early morning, before the castle had truly awoken. (Jack had eventually deemed that this seemed to be a pretty _Elsa_ thing to do, but Elsa, weirdly enough, was suspiciously late.)

The King cleared his throat from atop his saddle, adjusting the reins and avoiding Jack's eye; not that most kings really looked their help in the eye, anyway.

But this one usually did.

“Not this morning,” he replied, as if this was something troubling, but then Jack saw a slip of a reassuring smile before he found himself being rushed to the wall of the stable by an onslaught of hooves, and then the King was off, riding into the autumn mist.

Jack stared hard at the empty lane, covered in swirling fog, then back to the castle.

Curious.

He couldn't sneak off to the castle when the King was obviously expecting him to be there in the stables when he returned, so that made the waiting all the more difficult. Solvar the Stallion tried to nip him _twice_ because he wasn't paying him enough attention. Though, he might also have snagged a few tangles in his hair.

“Oi,” he snarked back at the horse, giving his strong neck a meaningful pat. “It's not my fault your master's actin' strange.”

The soft huff he received in reply sounded suspiciously like a scoff. Boring or no, sheep had been so much quieter.

But Jack didn't let himself dwell on that.

When the King did eventually return, it was long into mid-morning, though the fog had not yet lifted. (And that was another thing Jack wasn't used to yet, living so close to the fjord; the wind was different here, and so was the fog.

The air, itself.)

He was greeted cordially, and returned the master's horse to his stable, and made a show of grooming him something fine—but the King hardly stayed long enough to appreciate it.

“All right, boys,” Jack whispered, slowly backing away from Solvar's flank. The stallion gave an irritated flick of its long neck, but Jack paid his ingratitude no mind. “Be back before you can say—”

“Is this how you intend to sneak into the castle?”

Jack froze.

The heels of his worn-in work boots skidded loudly in the hay as he pivoted on the spot, an easy grin already half-formed on his open, gaping mouth. The effect was sorta lost when he caught sight of the hooded cloak she wore, and the way her arms were crossed—and the way she was glaring at him—but still. She was here.

He lost control of his grin, just a bit.

“Sneak?” Jack echoed, as butterflies flocked to his stomach. “Me? Into where?”

“Spare me, Jackson. I've watched you try it before.”

“Jackson? I see no Jackson here.”

Her pale face looked even paler against the stark wool of her hood. (It was cold outside, but was it _that_ cold?) Jack was still wearing just a vest over his smock. Why all the fuss for a trip to the stables, always? She looked deadly serious, too, when she looked him in the eye and said, “Tell me you weren't actually going to try to come find me.”

Um.

“ _Find_ —? Please. That's nonsense,” Jack scoffed, casually, and Elsa's fire retreated into the haze of her eyes, until, “I mean, I knew that you'd come lookin' for me _,_ clearly. And your horse, too. I suppose.”

Her little nose did that thing—that particularly indignant thing, which he adored—where the nostrils flared just a bit, and her shoulders rose with the force of her exasperated breath, and it was the way she settled into that breath, all rigid and resigned, that made Jack want to make her laugh even more.

It took her a moment or two to compose herself enough to say what she had to say next, and Jack savored each one of them. Was he gawking? Maybe. Was he grinning, like an idiot?

As long as he wasn't drooling. 

Elsa licked her lips, with great solemnity, which was how she did most things. A single nod, and then, “Jackson, I think I should remind you—”

“It's Jack.” 

She paused, looking thoughtfully to his unyielding gaze, and something flickered in her eyes. But then it closed off, invisible to his sight, and he really _hated_ that, when she lifted her chin and answered in her best princess voice, “I would prefer to call you by your given name.”

“This _is_ my given name,” he shrugged, not nearly as nonchalantly, and so yeah, maybe he _was_ a little frustrated by her frustration. “It's the one I'm giving to you.”

She stood still, watching him, and Jack was chest-sinking deep into wondering what kind of trouble you could actually get into for arguing with the Princess when he realized that what he'd said was— 

“I, uh,” Jack's eyes dropped down to the hay strewn over the dirt between their feet. Shit. ( _Shit_. What was he thinking?) His mother had warned him about this—him and his big mouth, and his cocksure humor, and how it was going to get him into even deeper trouble one day. ( _Nice try, country boy._

 _But you never had a chance._ ) 

“I, um,” Jack tried again, only now his face was growing hot with shame. Fuck. No—no, don't think that, because then it might slip out, and that was the _last_ thing Jack needed, right now. “Sorry,” he laughed, uneasily. “That was a little—”

Oh, god.

Jack made the mistake of looking up, red-faced and tongue-tied, only to find that Elsa was much the same.

Her cheeks were a pleasant shade of pink, and her face was blank with shock, and Jack would have been really, _really_ embarrassed if he weren't so fascinated by the way her eyes were glowing, or the way her lips were parting... speechless.

Sudden feeling rushed through his limbs, winding tight at his core. One foot stumbled forward, and his hands fell to the sides, entreating. “Elsa, I—”

“I shouldn't come here anymore.”

Cold shock, piercing and merciless, right through his brain. She was doing her best to look him in eye, but every so often her gaze would drift to the side, watching the horses in their stables; he couldn't tell if he was grateful, or annoyed.

Or ashamed.

Jack's jaw clicked tight together, clenched and uncomfortable. “I see,” he swallowed, aiming his tone for light. He sorta made it halfway. 

All at once, Elsa's rigid posture crumbled; it wasn't really a conscious thought, stepping back when she stepped forward, but he regretted it instantly—and didn't, at the same time—because Elsa clearly hadn't been expecting it, and it was nice for once, to be able to show her what it felt like. To make her feel the same way.

(Which meant, essentially, that Jack was a terrible person—selfish, and greedy—right down to the very bone, and he knew it.

He knew it.)

Which is why he, Jackson Overland, the dirt-poor Shepherd's Boy from the Eastern Woods of Arendelle, who'd left the grand countryside and his small home on a generous offer to work amongst the royal family for thrice the pay and thrice the perks— _who'd left behind his sister, and his mother, and his life, with just a mere promise to send his earnings back home as soon as they were earned_ —stitched on his easiest, most convincing smile, and pretended with all of his might that he wasn't hopelessly enamored with the Princess.

He'd gotten rather good at it.

“So, what?” His shoulders jerked— _smile too easy, grin too wide_. “You're just gonna... stop visitin' your horse, then?”

Elsa bit her lip, then dragged her eyes to the stable where her faithful companion stood, tall and regal and concerned—almost like she knew what was going on. A gloved hand reached out from under the heavy cloak, gently stroking the long nose that reached out to her. Elsa quietly admitted, “I have visited her more in these last few weeks alone than I have in the rest of all my years together.” Meaningfully, she looked to Jack.

His eyes widened, then narrowed. _She_... couldn't mean... _?_

Jaw tight, he turned to the row of saddles hitched upon the racks against the wall, aimlessly adjusting their straps. “Sneaking 'round in secret to visit the stable boy not doing it for ya, anymore?” 

“Jackson, _listen_ to me,” she pleaded suddenly, and Jack couldn't look—couldn't look her in the eye. His tongue found the hard side-ridge of teeth and he pressed them down, gently, biting back his words. ( _It's Jack,_ he thought. _J a c k_. ) When he turned, just slightly, he watched the sleeve of her cloak instead. “It's becoming too difficult... Do you—do you have any idea what my father would do if he were to learn of this?”

“I can replace the apples I ate, if you're concerned,” Jack supplied, finally glancing up. He fed off her reaction more than he'd like to admit, and the part of him that was clinging on enjoyed the frustration he saw in her face—the _apology_ —but then that only made him angry, and resentful, and forever he was fucked, because he never shoulda come here, never shoulda been in the heart of Arendelle in the first place.

“You know what I'm talking about,” said Elsa, softly, and the stables were quiet once more.

 Yeah. So maybe Jack knew. (But what good would it do to admit it? None.

What good would it do to play along? What difference would it make?

_None.)_

And it hurt, it hurt a lot, when Jack licked his dry lips and cleared his throat and said, “If milady will be needing her horse now?”

A full moment, he saw it—pain and confusion and longing, _so recognizable_ —and then her face closed off, blank and untouched. It was a punch to the gut.

“No,” Elsa quietly replied, and her composure was returning more and more to its royal underlinings with each passing breath, and with each nuance came the realization of just how little Jack was now used to seeing them. The dip of the brow. The tilt to the chin. The slant of the eyes. “Thank you,” she responded, with great civility, “But not this morning.”

His eyes turned swiftly to the mare in the nearest stall, who huffed softly in concern. Jack said nothing as he stepped forward to lay a calm hand upon her long face— _to quiet her unsettled shuffling, to hush her whinnied concerns_ —and there he stayed, eyes focused only on the creature in front of him, letting the cold, empty air say what he could not. (Not a stable boy’s place, after all.  
  
To dismiss a Princess.)  
  
He tended to the mare long after she’d settled, long after the sounds of quiet footsteps had disappeared. (Long after the nosy animal looked him straight in the eye with a look that clearly said, _Jack. You’re an idiot._ )  
  
“ _Shush_ ,” he hissed back, a mere whisper in the silence. She actually looked offended, of all things, and Jack gave her an extra carrot, because it was easier than admitting she was right.

The stables were empty for the rest of the day, but its roof was oppressive; its walls, suffocating.

Jack drowned his thoughts in sweat and autumn mist, through endless hours of work; his diligence did not go unnoticed by the groundskeeper, who made certain to tell Jack that he would pass along good word to the King. It was great news, both for the empty space in his pockets and the family waiting back home, but today, it mattered little, what favorable words of Jack's work ethic made their way to the King.

Because Elsa, of course, was a Princess of her word.

Jack did not see her come round the stables again.

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“ _How did you know that I'm not a servant?”_  

“ _Hah... It wasn't that hard.”_

“ _Yes, but how could you tell?”_

( _Where to start?  
_ _With her walk? The way she talked,  
_ _with formal undertones and prim politeness?_

 

 _The distance she kept?_ )

 “ _Well... I mean. You can tell a lot by a person's hands,  
_ _and yours are probably the nicest I've ever seen.”_

 

“ _Oh.”_

 

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“ _Uh. I mean—you know. With the gloves and all.”_

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“ _Well...  
_ _Thank you, I suppose.”_  

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If there was one thing Jack appreciated his rat of a father for, it was probably his good looks.

Though people always said he looked more like his mother, anyway.

Regardless, it made it real easy to strike up a conversation with any number of handmaidens who just happened to be passing through the servants' quarters throughout the day. (And that was another thing: what kind of King allowed his servants so much idle time? He was either the most considerate master of all time, or the worst business man ever.) He'd collected a fair assortment of them one afternoon, as well as a few of the male attendants and housekeepers, and was regaling them with some stupid story about the time he'd gotten his pants caught in a tree, when he saw her.

They'd been laughing, and so had he, enough that he'd clutched his stomach to ease the tension in those muscles, and that's when he'd spotted the open window across the long courtyard of the gardens, and saw her watching him from the library.

And then she was gone.

The others were still laughing, throwing fits over the genius of his opening flair ( _“I'll tell you a tale that'll have you laughing your breeches off.”)_ and Jack was suddenly no longer in the mood to appreciate it.

His laugh was stilted, and flat, but nobody seemed to notice.

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“ _So what's your name, anyway?”_

“ _My name?”_

“ _Yeah. Or your title, or whatever. You, uh... you a permanent resident here, in the castle?  
_ _Or maybe—some duchess from a nearby kingdom or somethin'?  
_ _I ain't ever seen your portrait.”_

“ _I've only ever had one painted... when I was very young.”_

“ _Oh, yeah? Is it... still in the castle somewhere?”_  

“ _Stable boy, are you trying to gather information as to its whereabouts?”_

“ _Are you withholding that information?”_

“ _Are you insinuating that I have somehow been untruthful with my identity?”_

“ _That would require some measure of truth to be taken,_ your ladyship _,  
_ _and as it stands you have been_ most _vague.”_

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“ _Very well, then. It is on the second floor, near the library, if you absolutely must know.”_

“ _Would you not_ like _me to know?”_

“ _I would not like much of anything, save for your silence on the matter.”_

“ _Silence...?”_

“ _About my visiting here, once you've discovered who I am.”_

“ _Are you..._ always _this sneaky?”_  

“ _Are you always this impertinent?”_

“ _Impertinent... Huh. Well, if by that you mean 'charming', then I'd have to say yes."_  

“ _Indeed.”_

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“ _I'm actually curious, though.  
_ _What's a nice duchess-lady like you doin' sneakin' around this fancy of a castle?_

 _Are you the black sheep of the family or somethin'?”_  

“ _The what?”_

“ _Ha, sorry. I haven't been a stable boy long enough to make any good jokes,  
_ _so the Shepherd's ones are all I got.”_

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“ _Name's Jackson, by the way. Though you can call me Jack.”_  

“ _Jackson... It's a nice name.”_

“ _Oh. Well, uh—thanks. Ah. Yeah... Thanks.  
_ _And, uh... I guess I'll learn yours soon enough.”_

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“Oh, no, my dear,” said the eldest of the chambermaids, very much surprised. Her hair was tucked neatly under her maiden's cap, and it shook gently with concern. “You must be mistaken. The Princess you must have attended was her majesty _Anna,_ who dearly loves to ride. She's been quite busy with her studies these past few weeks, but I'm certain it was her. Our Princess Elsa has not left the castle grounds in years.”

“Wait,” Jack paused, and he was so confused that his lip actually curled. “ _What?_ ”

“It's true!” said the chandler, tall and gruff and much older than the rest. His beard was thick, and so were his eyebrows. “Some say she's sick, and can't be exposed to the mountain air.” 

“She has not been allowed outside of the castle walls since she was a little girl,” said another chambermaid, much younger, though still at least half a decade his senior. Jack stared in incredulous awe as she sighed, “We fear that she grows lonelier with each passing year...”

“What—what are you talking about?”

“Don't you know?” she asked, after a stunned moment of silence.

Jack didn't want to know. “Know what?”

“She hasn't seen a speck of fresh air since the day they closed the gates—let alone any visitors! Haven't you noticed the quiet that surrounds the northern wing? Or thought it strange how an extra warm meal is always delivered _away_ from the dining hall at supper?”

“Hazel, there's no way for the boy to know that,” said the chandler, disparagingly, while the handmaiden— _Hazel?_ —looked distressed at having been interrupted. “The boy hardly sees the interior of the castle, anyhow!”

A small frown crept onto Jack's face without his permission. He didn't _mind_ working the stables, and horses weren't bad company, but there was something about the chandler's tone— _the slight lacing of pity, unnoticed by all but Jack_ —that made his stomach clench.

So Jack started, slightly, when the chandler turned his way and, in _not-so-hushed_ tones, declared, “You know, boy—you're only the second new staff the King has hired on since the closing of the gates!”

“Uhh... _oh._ Well—”

“You want the truth?” he asked, and, barely pausing for an answer, barged on, “Well, here it is, boy—they've all but barricaded her within the castle walls, so ill is she. The Queen frets day in and day out, but there's nothing to be done. Arendelle has become a quiet harbor... what once hosted the finest balls in all the kingdoms is now but a dusty old throne room for the occasional diplomat.”

“We had _hoped_ that the eldest Princess would recover well enough for an introduction on her sixteenth birthday,” said the eldest, almost mournfully. “But such exertion would have fared poorly for her health.”

“T'wasn't in the cards,” added the chandler, nodding grimly.

“But _Anna_ is set to have hers in just a short year or two,” exclaimed Hazel, almost conspiratorially. “Though that's a bit of hard truth for the castle to swallow, too—as it stands, Princess Elsa has not spoken to her sister, Anna, in _years._ Not truly, anyway. (Not that the rest of the _kingdom_ knows that—that's private castle knowledge.)”

“ _Hazel._ ”

“What?” she snapped. “He'll be informed of the official silence order soon as Anna's released from her studies, anyways!” 

“Still,” the eldest warned, mindfully. “A bit of _discretion_ over such a _delicate_ matter, yes?” 

They looked to Jack, meaningfully.

“Uh,” he stared back, blankly. His throat was very dry. “Of course.”

“Very well, then,” Hazel grinned immediately, and the other two visibly relaxed. “Princess Elsa herself only sees the King and Queen twice or thrice a week—and we aren't even allowed _near_ her chambers.” Hazel's eyes were wide, and frantic, as the chandler nodded his assent. “The last servant who accidentally got too close was still half a wing away, and the King offered him a severance pay he couldn't refuse.”

Jack reared back, eyes widening. _What the hell?_ his mind spat. (Yeah. Because Jack was sure it was the _pay_ he couldn't refuse.) _What kind of horseshit—_

“So, wait,” Jack held out a hand, lowering a single brow _deep_ with snappy incredulousness. “You're telling me... that you've all worked in this castle for _years,_ and you've never—never once seen the Princess since she was—since the gates closed?” 

“Princess _Elsa_ ,” corrected the eldest maid, who'd let the younger servants bicker on for long enough. _Helga_ , Jack remembered, suddenly. These names were so hard to pronounce sometimes.

“Well, we have—but only on special occasions,” said Hazel, who was eager to rejoin the conversation. “Her failing health keeps her in very fragile condition.” 

 _Fragile_ , Jack thought, frowning, as something prickled at his chest.

Right.

“Anna, on the other hand, must have rushed down to your stables at the first word of new staff!” declared wise Helga, with a twinkle in her eye. “The King and Queen must not suspect a thing, or else you'd have heard all of this much sooner. But still—her majesty Anna has a spirit that cannot be contained for long, and if she's heard of your arrival, then... there's no doubt that she'll have gone to great lengths to find you.”

A devious gleam entered Helga's wise eyes.

“A young man, no less!” guffawed the Chandler, who apparently shared Helga's amusement.

Hazel was looking away pointedly, while Helga tilted her head to the side, thoughtfully. “And so handsome, too.” 

“I... uh.” 

“Truly, it's a shame that her studies have kept her so occupied,” Helga sighed, drowning out the sound of Jack's uneasy laughter. “ _Though,_ in all fairness, the importance of her academia cannot be underestimated.” 

“But, wait—hang on, _so_ —you're telling me,” Jack pointed a finger, though he wasn't really sure who or what it was aiming for. “You're saying that it was _Anna_ who visited me _?_ ” 

“ _Princess_ Anna. It was a young maiden of red hair, was it not?” asked the older maid, eyes searching. Helga's gaze was direct, pinning him hard with a look he didn't understand. “With a single golden streak at her temple?”

_Red?_

Jack pictured her face.

Pale and round, with bright blue eyes and slightly freckled cheeks. The dark hood of the cloak that she always wore, and the strands of golden blonde that framed her face, which she always tried so hard to hide. The way that her teeth wouldn't quite show, when she'd smile. _Or,_ on the days when he'd fancied himself lucky—

Her laugh.

Slowly, with careful deliberation, Jack shifted his jaw, nodded in recognition, and formed a _lie._

“Yes,” he said, as curiosity burned through every inch of his skin: What the _hell_ was he lying for? (He didn't owe her anything. Nothin'. In fact— _she_ owed _him_.) If she thought that she could get away with—with whatever the hell she was doing, and tricking _him_ in the process, then—well. She had another thing coming. 

Nobody tricked Jackson Overland.

Gettin' him caught up in the middle of some farfetched tale, all mystic and secretive and vague and what the _hell_ was with this story, anyways? That she was _sick?_ And the whole castle believed it? (Where had the story come from?)

And. more importantly, what in the _hell_ had she been sneakin' around with the likes of him for?

And _how,_ for that matter, had she managed to sneak down to the stables almost every day—and never once get spotted? (Not even he could do that; _she_ usually caught him.)

Call him stupid, but he was beginning to think that all this was more than just a fear of being caught with the dirty stable boy.

“All right, so _who_ —then who in the castle attends to—?”

“That would be Olga, the oldest and most trusted of us all,” said Hazel, proud to share her inside knowledge. “She's a blabbermouth and a busybody, but she was the Queen's personal attendant, back when her majesty was in her prime.”

“Hush yourself. The Queen is just as much in her prime as ever.”

“Yes. I apologize.”

“So—like— _no_ one else is allowed in that part of the castle?” Jack asked, trying to wrap his head around it. What the fuck kind of castle had he signed himself into? “Not even Anna?”

Their faces were grave.

“Not even Anna,” the chandler answered, solemn.

Something stronger than curiosity slipped down Jack's spine.

Something cold, like dread.

Because the eldest handmaiden corrected, “ _Especially_ not Anna.”

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“ _Good morning, Jackson.”_

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“ _Oh... I take it you have found the portrait, then.”_

“ _I did.”_

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“ _You're... are you upset with me?”_

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“ _Even if I were, you wouldn't honestly expect me to own that up to a Princess, would you?”_

“ _I... I knew this would happen. I should never have told you.”_

“ _Why? So you could come laugh at the farm boy uncontested?”_

“ _I—I beg your pardon?”_

“ _Well, the game is over, your majesty. You can keep playing all you want,  
_ _but I'm afraid it's gonna be rather one-sided from now on.”_

 “ _You think that I—the reason that I come here is to_ laugh _at you?”_

“ _Frankly, I don't know why you do what you do.  
_ _Come out in the early morning before anyone else is awake, wear your big cloak like that'd actually do anything to hide_ you— _or your status.  
_ _Instead of telling me who you are directly, you send me on a wild goose chase up to find a nice family portrait with the King, himself.  
_ _You come nearly every day to brush your horse, but you never ride her, and you won't bring me a royal seal to prove that you can.  
_ _You stay until just before the fog breaks, and then you're gone. I mean, seriously—a royal Princess trekking down from her fancy castle to spend her time_ here _?  
  
_ _I'm not stupid.”_

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( _Shit._

 _Please don't have me beheaded._ )

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“ _You have overlooked something very important, Jackson.”_

“ _Yeah, and what's that?  
_ _And it's_ Jack _, for the record.”_

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“ _To laugh would suggest that you are clever or amusing._

 _And, quite fortunately for the two of us, I rarely find you to be_ _either.”_

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“ _Oh. Well, that's... reassuring.”_

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“ _Is that all?”_

“ _Is that... Well. I—yeah. That's. That's why.”_  

“ _I see.”_

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“ _Well. If you are quite done with your speculations, Jackson, I would be ever so obliged if you'd pass me the brush that you are valiantly guarding,  
_ _so that I may begin grooming my horse—who is, you know, the reason that I have come._

_Unless, of course, my status gives you discomfort.”_

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(But, truthfully,  
she had no

 _idea._ )

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The Autumnal Equinox was the same in the heart of Arendelle as it was in the countryside, only a lot louder and with a lot more people and a whole boatload more of decorations. All the townspeople were celebrating with wreaths of fallen leaves and crisp autumn berries, with dancing and bonfires and warm, sweet drinks in the fading sunlight. 

Yeah, okay, so it really wasn't the same at all.

The gathering crowds were riotous in their laughter, full of harvest cheer, and Jack played a tricky balance between drinking in every drop of attention afforded him by the pretty girls who asked him to dance, and avoiding the dancing circles altogether. Jack danced, and drank, and was merry—but his mind was elsewhere.

It wasn't until dusk that Jack, content that he'd gotten the others sufficiently drunk off fresh apple cider, snuck into the castle.

Darting around corners and avoiding celebratory couples in darkened alcoves wasn't exactly the most impressive of feats, but they were accomplishments all the same. The royal family and their small brigade of guests were enjoying themselves in some private parlor—which Jack only knew about thanks to some careful questioning of a very merry chandler. And, from the smell of rich wine that wafted down the long corridor, Jack surmised that the King and his guests would be agreeably occupied for at least an hour.

He strolled down corridors and rushed up staircases, all with only the vaguest semblance of direction because _hey,_ why the hell would anybody tell the _stable boy_ where everything was in the castle? (A tipsy Hazel, maybe, but that was beside the point.) He hid behind suits of armor and ducked deep into the shadows whenever a sudden sound floated past his upturned ears. On his breath was the taste of hard cider, dry and crisp and sweet; he wondered, for a moment, if it might have been the source of his boldness, but Jack was a young man of his own luck, who relied on nerves and quick thinking to tear him from a rough spot. He'd planned this little stunt of his weeks ago. ( _Plan,_ of course, may or may not have been the best description.)

He knew he'd find her in the library.

She was at the southern windows, facing out toward the bridge—and the celebration that welled up into the air from beyond it. There was a book in her lap, totally forgotten, and the very sight of her had Jack's chest aching.

But enough of that.

“So is there a reason that everyone thinks you're some kind of invalid?”

Her gasp was enough to shock them both—so _wretched_ and cutting that a curl of ice dripped down his spine. Her eyes were wide, terrified, and all Jack could do was gape back at her. _Shit_. He hadn't meant to—

“ _Jack_!” she exclaimed, pressing herself back into the windowsill. Her eyes were wild. Her forgotten book lay tumbled to the floor, unnoticed. “What are you _doing_ here? Don't you realize what you could have—what you could have _done_?”

“ _Holy_ —wait, Elsa, I'm sorry,” he placated, raising his hands high in surrender. Or plea. “I didn't—I didn't mean to scare you, okay? I just—wanted to catch you by surprise, like—I don't know, it was stupid. I'm sorry, okay?”

It was only then, in the long moments that followed, that Jack realized how cold the world had become.

He looked to the empty fireplace as another shiver overtook him, and his arms immediately crossed themselves over his front to brace against the cold—until he realized how inexcusably defensive he must have looked, and threw his hands to his sides at once. The hairs on his arms stood on end, with fear and uncertainty and terrible, terrible dread.

Elsa was breathing hard on the seat by the windows, struggling to calm her heart. Her hands— _gloves?_ —were wringing tightly together, and she was whispering something beneath her breath, over and over. Jack stood in the threshold, lost and dazed and _ever the fool_ , slowly being consumed by guilt and the fiercest need to apologize. Again, and again. Forever.

“Elsa, I'm sorry,” he blurted, and almost took a step forward, but stopped himself at the last moment. “That was stupid. I'm real sorry. I didn't mean to scare you—”

“It's fine.”

Her voice was even, and her face was blank, and Jack felt worse than ever.

“Can I... can I come in?”

The air in the room was so cold it was actually _suffocating_ , like Jack's lungs were shrinking, smaller and smaller, with needles pricking at his nose and throat all the way down. _Damn._ (Why wasn't the fire burning in the hearth?)

Elsa was considering him very strangely, like she'd never seen him before. (A small drop of panic flooded through him. _What if she really_ hasn't _left the castle?_ and _Did I just imagine her?_ ) But then reason won out, and Elsa got that look in her eye— _the one she got right before she humored him, or let him get away with something that she probably shouldn't have_ —and Jack was just about to let out a sigh of relief when she asked, “What are you doing here?”

Disappointment sat soundly in his gut. Tongue suddenly twisted, Jack floundered for his words. “Well—I. I heard some— _things_ that I didn't really understand—and I wanted to come ask you about it. You know. Since it was about you.” No, that was terrible. “And it's been—it's been a while since I've seen you—like, a week and a half, but you probably already knew that—maybe—and I just, wanted, to. You know.

“See you,” he finished, lamely.

For a minute, he swore that neither of them breathed.

 _Dammit._ He hadn't meant to scare her. And he was sure as hell doing a wonderful job of mucking it up even further. ( _Dammit._ He didn't think this through!) _Fuck._ Was this breaking and entering? _Oh, god_. He didn't want to give her a reason to fucking _arrest_ him. He just wanted to see her.

“ _Jack_ ,” she hissed, and he started, embarrassingly, because he'd just been staring at her blankly, rooted to the spot. “ _Listen to me_ —you can't stay here. It's dangerous.”

It shouldn't have still hurt, but it did.

“Is your name really Elsa?” he demanded, seized by the unshakable urge to _know_ , once and for all. It obviously wasn't what she'd been expecting.

Her round face no longer held the careful mask— _a sheen of ice, hard and cold and distant_ —and her eyes widened, imperceptibly. It wasn't the sort of reaction that _dampened_ Jack's curiosity. She looked at him, confused, and Jack looked back, and his face began to harden even before he knew it. Her breath was a whisper, lost and unsure. “ _What_?”

“Is your name really Elsa?” he repeated, staying right where he was. “Are you really the eldest Princess of Arendelle?”

Her eyes lowered to the ground, at the wide space between them, and Jack realized, then, how loudly his heart was pounding.

“What is this about?” she breathed.

His jaw clenched, instinctively. With a difficult swallow, Jack kept his eyes on her downturned face, and dwelled on the question that had been burning inside of him for days. Voice fortified by some forgotten bead of resentment long-seeded in his gut, Jack steeled his gaze. “Were you lying to me?” he demanded. “About who you are? Your story should make sense, but there's too many things that aren't adding up. Like _why_ is it that I'd seen you at the stables nearly every day for almost half a _month_ , when the _entire_ castle thinks Princess Elsa of Arendelle hasn't been outside of the castle proper in ten years? Yeah? Can you explain that to me? Because if this is some ridiculous, elaborate, initiation prank or something then I don't—”

“Twelve.”

Jack faltered, unsure. His head ticked to the side, suspiciously, and—eyes narrowing—asked, “What?”

“Years,” she whispered, staring at the floor. “They think it's been twelve.”

Jack blinked, chin lowering. There was sand in his mouth, even after he cleared his throat.

“Is it... true?”

“Until the end of August,” Elsa whispered, not looking at him, “It might as well have been.”

_Might... as... ?_

There was a thick lump in his throat, suddenly, that Jack didn't very much like. Something was grabbing at his chest, too, like a clamp. Or claws. _“August,”_ he echoed quietly, but the sounds hardly felt like a real word at all. Elsa looked up, and Jack couldn't tell, for once, if her mask was supposed to be off or on. For a moment, neither of them said anything at all, and the sudden bursts of laughter carrying on the wind raked down his spine in the most unpleasant way. (Why was she _up_ here?) But all Jack could manage was a soft, downtrodden, “Huh.”

He'd arrived in August.

Compelled by a force that not even he could explain, Jack slowly stepped forward, and _again_ , and again. He was but a leap away when Elsa's awareness suddenly took over, and her defenses sprang back into action. She tensed, hands clasped tightly together, and—

“Jackson, _stop_ ,” she commanded, leaning back into the windowpane. Jack _did,_ immediately, but not without a sickening lurch of his gut. Elsa looked panicked, and he had no idea why.

“Elsa,” he said, with a humiliating crack. “I don't know what you want me to do.”

Her lungs surged with the force of her inhale, and then the words were flowing out, washing over him without making hardly any sense at all.

“Jack, I _know_ that I haven't been completely honest with you, and I'm sorry that you had to find out about my confinement through such unacceptable means—”

“Con _fine_ ment _?”_

“But _believe_ me,” Elsa pleaded, eyes wide. “It is not within your best interests to be here.”

Jack stared, skin prickling. He wasn't sure exactly what it was that brought out his bravado, then. His arrogance, maybe, but Jack didn't truly have much of that—not really, anyway. He'd been known to lash out at fear in humor, but this—this felt different.

He looked her in the eye— _half-grin, half-frown_ —and admitted, rather truthfully, “I rarely do anything within my best interests.”

“Then know that it is not within _mine,”_ she insisted firmly, a hard edge to mask the tremor of her plea. That, over anything else, gave Jack pause.

“Is it because I work the stables?”

“ _What_?”

“Because I clean after the horses,” he repeated, because he needed to _know_. “Because I'm from the country and I'm a commoner, and all that.”

“I— _please,_ Jackson. Do not insult me with such petty accusations. Your occupation means nothing to me, though your presence here _does_ , as will it matter to anyone who may happen to be passing by—for the sake of _propriety_ —and even with all propriety aside, you should not be here!”

She was talking to him. Holy shit. This was the most conversation they'd had in _days_. There was an undeniable storm of caution in his gut, like his body somehow sensed a danger that _he_ didn't, but it was so hard to pay attention to something like that when _Elsa's_ undivided attention— _intense and compelling, prized and precious_ —was directed solely at him.

It wasn't the smartest idea, but that probably only made it easier; Jack deviously ventured: “... _all_ propriety aside, your highness?”

Elsa's gaze hardened— _but it was a_ familiar _annoyance, a familiar glare_ —and Jack's stomach was tumbling uncontrollably, and even worse when her gaze laced with something more serious, more solemn. “Your cleverness will not do either of us any good,” she all but hissed. “ _Please_ leave, before someone knows that you've gone missing, or—”

“Nobody's gonna notice me,” he assured her, with an unexpected bite that made her falter—and one that he didn't really want to explore, himself. He jerked a shrug, determined to bury it deep. “Promise.”

Shit.

He shouldn't have said that.

Elsa was looking at him most carefully, but not the way she used to do back in the stables.

“I was foolish for coming to see you,” Elsa whispered, and at first, Jack wasn't really sure if she was talking to herself. “ _Selfish_... I put you in very real danger... and I will not forgive myself for it, not ever.”

“What is this _danger_ you keep talking about? Aren't you supposed to be the one who's, like, sick or something?”

“It's—it's impossible to explain,” Elsa insisted, as her breaths shortened, and Jack was about to plow straight over her argument, but she wouldn't stop. “I don't expect you to forgive me either, and there's nothing I can do for it—nothing except ask that you please _leave_ , and never speak of this again, although—although I know it's so much to ask, and I _promise_ you, that somehow I will find a way to make your troubles worthwhile, for however long you choose to stay here in the capital, and that I will find some means of compensating you for the insupportable behavior that I've acted against you, by whatever means you—”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, wait— _compensate_ me?” Jack demanded, disgusted. His head was still spinning. “I don't—I don't want your _money_.”

“Then name your recompense **,** and it shall be yours.”

“I don't—I don't want _anything_ ,” Jack declared, edged with resentment. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about, with this danger nonsense, but if you think you're gonna have to pay me off and just ship me away to keep quiet, then your highness, you don't know who the hell I am.”

 _Fuck_ this. This was a mistake.

Except.

_Except—_

(He probably would have sold half his lifetime  
— _maybe even more_ —  
if it meant that she would keep looking at him like that. 

Like she actually saw him.) 

“You are a shepherd's boy from the countryside, in the east, where the orchards grow,” Elsa said, softly, while Jack stood trapped in silence. “You have a sister, though I don't know her name, and a mother, who you clearly adore... You don't always understand the ways of the town, but you're a quick-learner, and are quick to make people laugh, and can often be found with a group of admirers listening to your stories. You know many names, and most of the castle knows yours, but you never stay in one group for very long... you drift from wing to wing, making yourself known but never getting to know anyone, and much of your time is spent in the stables, where it's quiet. You're not afraid to work hard, and you're not unused to it, but you don't take pride in it, as if you're worried what it might mean, if you start to. You smile a lot, and you laugh just as much, but sometimes, you think that that's all people see.”

Jack remained still, speechless.

After a long, painful silence, Elsa began to shrink away. “I'm sorry,” she laughed, quietly, and there was something welling in his throat— _he'd only ever heard his mother laugh like that, on the nights when she thought he couldn't hear her_ —and she was already shutting him out, putting the Princess back into place—

“I missed you,” he blurted.

Elsa glanced up, eyes widening. They were— _so_ —fucking blue, like the sky, or the ocean, or the glaciers, themselves. He got lost in them, for a moment.

“Jack... could I ask something of you?”

_Anything._

But no.

He couldn't scare her off, not again. ( _Remember your place, country boy_.) He'd messed up too many times, already.

“Of course,” he nodded, slowly, _controlled_ , as if this were a matter of great severity. (And—he couldn't help thinking—it _was_.) He could feel his hands shaking, so he clenched them into fists; he squeezed them tight until they were sore with the effort it took not to leap to her side, or throw his arms around her or _shake_ her, or do something equally stupid, he just had so much energy, he couldn't concentrate, they were talking again and he was _there_ , with her, in her _own_ little sanctuary, for once, and instead of in the stables they were— _they were_ —inside the castle? (Oh—

— _shit._

How long had he been there? What time was it? How many bottles of wine could a group of diplomats imbibe before they started roaming the halls? Or, _better question,_ how long could the King host a decent party for?

When would the others start to look for—?)

“I must warn you,” she continued softly, gazing at him across the way. “It's... it's not an easy something.”

Cold dread surged through him. He swallowed the lump in his throat with as much subtlety as his foggy, swollen throat would allow, and said, “You're not gonna ask me to leave you alone, are you?”

Elsa considered him, carefully.

He should have learned by now to keep his mouth _shut_.

But there was a slight curve to the corner of her lips, slow and sweet, and Jack tightened his fists, dug his fingernails _deep_ , just to remind himself that it wasn't something he was allowed to kiss.

( _Yet?_ )

—but Jack shoved the thought away, before it could settle.

“No,” Elsa whispered, and on her face was the most distracting shade of cautious happiness that Jack had ever seen. “Though I know that you would, if I asked you to.”

“Uh... so, you're _not_ asking me to?”

“Are you asking me to change my mind?”

_She was—_

She was _messing_ with him?

Stunned, Jackson Overland blinked, desperately trying not to let his heart drop any further into his stomach. The insides of his ribcage were probably carved with stress, torn to shreds over too much shock and irrational fear and grouchy unfamiliarity with being so effectively teased, himself.

“You know the answer to that,” he muttered.

Her light laughter rippled over him like another rush of cider, tingling and warm, and soon his scowl slipped away, though not without valiant effort; he wore his lopsided grin with as much dignity as he could possibly muster, which probably wasn't very much.

“Will you... will you sit with me?”

“Is... that what you're asking of me?”

“No. I mean, _yes_ , but—I want to put my words in order first.”

His movements were slow— _careful, and deliberate_ —like approaching a skittish animal. (He'd had _years_ of practice.) He lowered himself onto the grand seat beside her at the window— _allowing her plenty of time to revoke her invitation, should she so wish_ —and it was as he settled into the cushion that he was struck by the sudden, mortifying fear of ruining her favorite place in the library with hay and dirt.

“I... ask for your patience,” she said, softly—then halted, unsure of how to continue. Whatever she was working herself up to, he could tell that she was actually really worried. (That she _trusted_ him—trusted him to do it, to be patient or whatever else she needed from him.) He didn't know what she was so worried about, but he'd do just about anything to prove that she was right.

That she _could_ trust him.

“I promise,” said Jackson, and so what if he was maybe interruptig? He _meant_ it. “And—I'm sorry, for taking out my—my frustration, on you. It wasn't my place. And _not_ just because of my station—though I _get_ that, too, I do—but I was—I was confused and I didn't know what to believe, but I still... _said_ some things that were, ah. _Really_ inappropriate, and I'm sorry—really. I don't even remember what I said, but it was probably—”

The velvet was soft.

Her fingertips were light and gentle, a mere ghost of a touch over his lips, but Jack felt the sensation surge all the way down to his core. Her gloves were cold, which only meant that the room felt warmer, and Jack's face flushed with heat as his cock gave an unmistakable twitch beneath the cover of his long shirt and vest, and she was—she was so _close_?

She was staring at her fingers over his mouth.

He didn't breathe.

And when her eyes darted up to his, the air remained frozen in his lungs, trapped by the focus in her gaze, the deep, inexplicable intensity that pierced into him, the deafening pound of his heart in his ears, the throbbing at his hips, the clenching of his chest. _She_ , Jack realized—in that moment, unlike any other— _she felt it, too_.

In the split second it took Jack's instincts to decide to tilt forward—to press into the gloved fingertips at his lips—was the exact moment that Elsa's hand skittered away, tentative and— _dare he think it_ —reluctant. Immediately, Jack's stomach churned with guilt and fear: What was this? Was this treason? What kind of crimes did one have to commit to get beheaded by the King of Arendelle, he wondered, because he was probably _guilty—_ guilty of all of them, or would be _soon_.

His mouth was dry, and his heart was going to explode— _apologize, or kiss her?_ —and his vision was starting to go a little blurry, and his head felt dizzy— _exit with dignity, or beg for forgiveness?_ —and Elsa's hand eventually returned to her waist while she regarded him, thoughtfully. She looked to be on the verge of a wonderful epiphany, while Jack felt like someone had just kicked him in the chest.

Her deep inhale was as soothing as it was jarring, and Jack's whole body felt like it was waiting to be shattered, but then her smile took on an unusual glint, an _enthusiasm_ that he was not used to seeing so clearly upon her face, and he almost didn't hear her, at first, when she whispered, “I would like to visit you in the stables again.”

It was very difficult to listen.

Her mouth was a terrible distraction.

“Jack?”

His eyes flew to hers, wide with shock. “ _Jack?_ ” he echoed, like a fool.

Elsa smiled, but that did him no good, and then she surged on, radiating warmth with every moment of her openness, her strange, special smile. “I wish to come visit you in the stables again, but—I must ask you, however, to be patient with me. Matters are still complicated, and I cannot move as freely as I once did before... And I cannot—I cannot always give you the answers you wish to know, for reasons that I am doubly unable to let you understand, but _I promise you_ —if there is ever a moment that I am not so afraid, it is when I am with you, no matter how I know I should be—though I don't always understand _how_ , of course, you allow me to feel this way—and I... I would face the fear of leaving these castle walls, a thousand times,” she smiled at him, softly, _warmly_ , “even if it only meant being near enough to scold you for eating my horse's apples... _Jackson_ Overland.”

His throat was thick, and his jaw felt tight, and his mouth was dry, which he tried very hard not to think about, as he licked his lips, overwhelmed by her words—by the _strength_ in them, the sincerity, the sureness and loyalty and it was not very surprising then, that he licked his dry, cracking lips once more and grinned out, contrite, “It's Jack.”

She smiled, bright and promising, and in his chest brimmed a feeling, tight and warm and full.

Like hope.

And he liked the look of her happiness, bright eyes and soft laughter, when she whispered, “ _Jack_.”

. * * * .

 

 

 

  

 


End file.
